


Just Harry

by shilo1364



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After the battle of Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Because they're hiding from the wizarding world, Except not really?, HP: EWE, M/M, Muggle University AU, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-06 21:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12826443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shilo1364/pseuds/shilo1364
Summary: It's a few years after the war, and Harry Potter is sick of his fame. He gets a chance for a new start in the muggle world , but fate isn't always on the same page...





	1. Just Harry

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so, I am planning to continue this. If you have any suggestions you're always welcome to comment or sent me a message or ask on [tumblr](http://www.whimsicaldragonette.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thanks to [Amahami](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Amahami/pseuds/Amahami) for alpha reading and [1236789](http://archiveofourown.org/users/1236789/pseuds/1236789) for beta reading! I didn’t give ‘em this one until I’d already posted parts 1-3, so any mistakes in those parts are all mine. XD That said, Parts 4-6 and Epilogue are 100% better than they would have been had I gone it alone.

Harry bounced lightly on his toes as he waited in the line marked new student check-in. He hadn’t felt this excited about anything in years. He could almost taste the possibility floating in the air, along with the scents of a dozen mingled body sprays and nervous sweat. The Student Union was bright and cheery; the white and green walls looked freshly painted, and sunlight streamed in through the large windows overlooking the lawn. It was all so fresh and new and exciting!

The line moved forward, and Harry felt his nervous excitement tick up a notch. There was only one student in front of him now, a bored-looking girl with bright blue hair and a slew of silver piercings. Soon she’d wandered off toward the vending machines, welcome packet dangling from her fingers, and Harry stepped nervously up to the desk.

“Um,” he said, smiling at the cheerful blonde girl looking up at him. “Hi. I was told this is where I find out about my roommate and… stuff?” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as her blue eyes crinkled up into a smile.

“Don’t worry,” she said, laughing. “I don’t bite. You’re in the right place. Name?”

“Harry Potter.”

She nodded and rifled through her drawer, and Harry had to stifle a nervous giggle. He still got the oddest sensation when people didn’t recognize him: a sort of swooping-soaring-sinking feeling in his stomach. He hoped he’d get used to it soon, or else he’d never be able to eat anything.

“Ah, here we go” she said, dragging his thoughts away from how horrid it had been, after the end of the war, when everyone recognized him and no one would give him a moment’s peace. It was over now. Hermione had gotten him what he’d always wanted — a fresh start where no one knew his name.

He blinked as he realized the girl was saying his name. “Ah, sorry. It all feels so unreal, still.”

She nodded sympathetically. “Don’t worry. That feeling will fade soon enough. Now here’s your class schedule, and here’s the important dates to remember - those circled in blue are the last days to change things. Some information on our food plans, oh, here’s how to get a library card…” She kept talking, piling papers and folders into his hands, and he felt his eyes glazing over. “And here’s your dorm room and keycard. It looks like your roommate is already here. His name is on your change request form there, though it’s best to avoid requesting a new roommate until you’ve worked through the conflict resolution strategies — those are in that brochure there — and…”

“Thank you,” Harry said, smiling and pretending he wasn’t completely overwhelmed. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.” He shoved the papers in with the others, not bothering to look at the name. He wouldn’t recognize it, so it didn’t seem like there was much point. “Which way is my room? I’m awfully tired — the trip here was longer than I expected.”

She nodded understandingly (even though she had no idea he’d meant the hassles of international Portkey travel) and pointed. “You’ll be in that dorm there. Just head outside and turn left. It’s the second building. It looks like you’re on the third floor, in the east wing” she said, checking another folder. “Do you think you can find it or should I find a runner to take you there?” She looked around, frowning, and Harry guessed that the runners were probably all busy.

“No, it’s fine, I’m sure I can find it. Thanks!” He smiled at her again, automatically using his “publicity smile,” as Hermione called it. She smiled back at him, wrinkling her freckled nose attractively, and he awkwardly tried to wave before remembering that his hands were full of papers. He fumbled them for a moment, face heating, and then quickly walked away, ducking his head in embarrassment. Undone by a pretty girl — and he didn’t even _like_ girls. Well, not much, anyway. He mentally shied away from Hermione’s latest lecture: _Bisexuality is a thing, Harry_ , and glanced down at his keycard. Room 317, Cedar Hall. Right. He could do this.

He found the room easily enough, and the keycard worked on the first try, thank Merlin, and he walked in to see his roommate rummaging about in a pile of boxes. His lanky form and platinum-blonde hair were instantly familiar and he flinched, feeling it like a punch straight to his gut. It couldn’t be. Could it?

It could.

 _Don’t turn around_ , Harry thought frantically, even though logically he knew they couldn’t go an entire semester without looking at one another. _I’ll just go and ask for a roommate change. Or—_

“Why, hello, roomie,” Malfoy drawled, as he began to turn around. “You’re a bit late, aren’t you. Are you —no.” The book he’d been rummaging for slipped from his fingers as he stared, openmouthed, shocked speechless for the first time in all the years Harry had known him. “ _Fuck_ no,” he managed after a moment, still staring blankly. His eyes were shadowed, and the cheerful smile he’d worn when Harry had first arrived was now replaced with one that looked strained, and a bit hunted.

Harry hated that smile. It didn’t look right on Malfoy’s aristocratic features. “Thanks a lot, Malfoy,” he said, forcing his voice to sound light. “Good to see you, too.”

“I was trying to get away from all that!” Malfoy exclaimed, face flushing. “From you,” he added, so quietly Harry had to strain to hear.

“From me?” he asked, somehow needing to hear him say it. “Why? Did you think I’d mock you Malfoy? Call in that life-debt? What?” His voice came out sounding hurt, and he realized that he meant it. He really was hurt that Malfoy would think that of him.

“No.” Malfoy grit out.

“Then why?”

Malfoy let the silence drag on until Harry didn’t think he could bear it any longer, and then he exploded. “I owe you for every scrap of dignity I managed to retain, Potter. I didn’t want to live beholden to you. With the constant reminders of how you are good and wonderful and everything I am not. Could never be. Of how much I owe you that I can never hope to repay!” He stopped, panting, staring defiantly at Harry for a moment and then looking away.

Harry felt off-balance, like he was just too slow to understand what was going on. “Yeah, well,” he said quietly, slumping back against the door. “I ran away from me, too, then.”

“I hated it,” he went on, when Malfoy didn’t say anything. “The fame, the arse-kissing. They wanted to make me Head Auror, did you know? Hell, some of them wanted to make me Minister of Magic. _Me_ , Malfoy. I had to get out of there." He stared down at the floor, letting the words fall from his lips like stones into a pool, wondering what would happen when the ripples reached Malfoy, poised for flight on the other side of the small room. “I needed a chance to leave all that ‘chosen one’ crap behind and just be Harry. _Just_ Harry.”

He looked at Malfoy, then, in time to see his mouth twitch up into a tiny smirk. “Well, _Just_ Harry,” he said after a moment, “Welcome to our humble dorm.” He spread his arms wide. “Within these walls you will find no arse-kissing, I can promise you that, if nothing else.”

Harry grinned. “Excellent.” He extended his hand. “Friends? I’ve been told it’s important to choose the right ones from the start.”

Malfoy stared for a moment, shocked, and then smirked and shook his hand firmly. “Very well, _Just_ Harry. My name is Draco. Now what say we go mingle?”

Harry shuddered. “Must we?”

Malfoy — _Draco —_ rolled his eyes. “Yes, Potter. Mingling is vital in any new situation. _Especially_ this one.”

Harry grimaced. “I _hate_ mingling,” he groused.

“Well, then,” Malfoy said, with a smug grin, “no one has taught you to mingle _properly_.”

“Whatever you say, Malfoy,” Harry sighed, having a sneaking suspicion of how most of their arguments were going to go. He let Malfoy lead him from the room, pausing only to toss his papers on the empty desk. Maybe he wouldn’t need that change request form after all.

 

* * *

_**A/N: I have no idea if I should continue this? Maybe?** _

 


	2. Part 2

The party was in full swing, despite the late hour and classes looming far too soon, and the boisterous crowd bopped enthusiastically to the thrumming bass beat.

Harry wove through them, nodding vaguely at… Sarah? Susan? Shelley? She peered up at him earnestly and he nodded, no longer sure what he was agreeing to. Whatever it was, it seemed to satisfy her, and he breathed a sigh of relief. She flipped her long black hair over her shoulder and the silken fall of it reminded him painfully of Cho, which reminded him of Cedric, which _hurt_. He stumbled away from her, muttering an apology, and searched the courtyard frantically for Malfoy. He needed to ground himself, needed to stem the rising tide of panic and sorrow. He couldn’t break down _here_.

He saw a flash of pale hair across the courtyard and sighed in relief. Not that he was relieved to see Malfoy, exactly, but he was a familiar face in the crowd, and Harry clung to the sight of him like a pale, pointy lifeline.

He shook his head, frowning at the direction his thoughts had turned and the way everything was spinning. He gazed down at the red plastic cup in his hand; it was empty. How many had he had? Was this the same cup he’d started the evening with? They all looked the same, and discarded cups littered the various tables and ledges surrounding the courtyard.

“There you are,” Harry said, weaving his way through the crowd to Malfoy’s side, ignoring his relief at being near him again.

“I thought you hated mingling?” Malfoy asked with more than a touch of annoyance from where he’d propped himself against the wall sometime before. He looked like he’d tried to mask his exhaustion with an elegant slouch and a pasted-on sneer.

Harry grinned helplessly back at him. He suspected his muscles had frozen in that position about an hour before. “I guess I’ve never properly mingled before. It’s a lot more fun when everyone isn’t fawning all over you.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Can we please go, now?”

“Yeah, I think most people are past the point of talking anyway — hey, Malfoy?”

“What?”

“How come you’re still here if you’re not enjoying it?”

“Merlin only knows. I thought I’d better keep an eye on you so you didn’t get lost.”

“I can find my way back to our room.”

“Can you? Which way is it, then?”

“Well, obviously it’s… Er.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Yes. Er. Come along, Potter. It’s time for bed. You’re just lucky Granger isn’t here to see you. We do have classes in the morning, you know?”

“Oh. Right. What classes do you have, Malfoy?”

“With my luck, the same ones you do. Now come on.”

* * *

“Hey, Malfoy?” Harry asked drowsily, as he floated on the cusp of sleep, tucked snugly into his unfamiliar but surprisingly comfortable bed.

“Hmmm?” came the drowsy reply from across the room.

“I’m glad you’re here. Y’know. At the school. And my roommate.”

Malfoy snorted. “Go to sleep, Potter.”

As Harry felt himself drifting off, he thought he heard a whispered: “I’m glad you’re here too.”

* * *

Harry cracked his eyes opened and groaned, promptly closing them again against the harsh morning light that streamed through their window. Malfoy sat at his desk, entirely unsympathetic.

“I’m going to die,” Harry announced.

Malfoy snorted. “You are not. Here. Drink this.”

Strong arms were suddenly thrust under Harry’s shoulders, pulling him upright, and he groaned again as the room tilted around him.

“How much did you _have_ last night,” Malfoy grunted as he lifted him. “Merlin. You still reek of that godawful punch.”

“Malfoy…”

“Here.” Malfoy thrust something into his hand, a small vial that felt cool and familiar in his overheated palm. He quickly downed it, not really looking at it, and promptly groaned in relief.

“You know, I could have poisoned you,” Malfoy said, amusement coloring his tone. “Not too long ago you would have been certain of it.”

Harry shrugged, cracking his neck and rotating his shoulders to get the kinks out as the hangover potion took hold, clearing his head. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t. Anyway. Don’t you think you’d get in trouble for offing your roommate?” He opened his eyes properly and grinned at Malfoy, pleased to see his small smile.

“Now,” he continued, “the real question is how much of that hangover potion you managed to smuggle in here?”

Malfoy snorted. “Not much, unfortunately, so if you plan to make that a regular occurrence, you’re on your own.”

Harry shook his head adamantly. “No, I think I’ll leave the partying to others from now on.”

Malfoy smiled. “Good. Otherwise, we’ll have to start a potions smuggling ring or sneak brewing supplies into the room — neither of which I look forward to.”

He got to his feet, holding out a hand to Harry and hauling him up. “Come on. We don’t have much time before class, and you need a shower before we brave breakfast.”

Harry, bemused and pleased that Malfoy had waited for him, let himself be shooed off to the shower.

* * *

“You know, you’re taking all this rather well,” Harry said thoughtfully that afternoon, as they made their way down the line at the cafeteria, grabbing slices of pizza and containers of fruit and salad.

“All of what?” Malfoy asked absently, focusing most of his attention on the selection of drinks. “Merlin, why do these have so much sugar?” he asked, turning to Harry with a confused frown and shoving a can of coke into his face.

“Er, because it tastes good?” Harry asked, reaching for the can.

Malfoy grimaced and whipped it out of his hands, replacing it with a bottle of orange juice.

“There’s not even any nutrition in that stuff,” he grumbled. “Don’t even think about it; it looks positively vile.”

Harry sighed. “He’s diabetic,” he said quickly, as the student in line behind them stared. They nodded, mollified, and moved on.”

“Hang on, I’m what?” Malfoy asked, indignant.

Harry sighed. “Just grab your juice; I’ll explain when we find a seat.”

They settled at one of the small tables in the corner, beneath a window that looked over a shaded courtyard.

“Now, explain,” Malfoy said.

Harry sighed again. “Muggles aren’t worried about sugar and nutrition in college,” he said, taking a bite of his pizza. “Diabetes is an illness that makes them have to constantly monitor their sugar intake. It was the best I could do in the moment.”

“Hmm. And what about what I was taking well?”

“Debatable, at the moment, but I was talking about the muggle world in general. You don’t seem as uncomfortable as I expected.”

Malfoy shrugged, but he looked pleased. “I did my research. It hasn’t been entirely pleasant for me in the Wizarding world, since, you know, so I’ve spent a lot of time in the muggle one.”

Harry nodded. “I’ve done the same, actually. For… similar reasons.”

They shared an intense look and then spent the rest of the meal in silence, each lost in thought.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Harry turned a page of his history textbook, stifling a yawn. He was trying to do as Malfoy had suggested and use this time to read the chapter so he’d be prepared when they worked on their homework later that night, but reading about the rise and fall of the Roman Empire was just _so_ incredibly boring. He supposed it could just be that the overly dry tone of the author wasn’t to his taste, but this was, unfortunately, the textbook their professor had assigned. At least the man made lectures interesting.

He attempted to focus his bleary eyes. He needed to get this chapter read by the time Malfoy got back from the one class they didn’t share. They were slotted to work on this week’s essay later, and Harry really didn’t want another lecture like last week’s.

He rather thought he preferred Hermione’s lectures. They didn’t make him feel quite so small. Or, he supposed, he could have grown used to them over 7 years of classes. Either way, Malfoy’s exasperation hurt more than Hermione’s had.

They’d fallen into a study routine surprisingly quickly. Malfoy insisted it made sense to work together since they had nearly all the same classes. Harry didn’t really know what Malfoy got out of the arrangement — it wasn’t like he usually ever contributed much of substance — but he was grateful. All those years of studying with Hermione as a partner (taskmaster) had left him apparently unable to focus without near-constant reminders and reprimands.

He’d never really realized how prone his mind was to wander. Like now, he thought ruefully, skimming back over the page to find where he’d stopped paying attention to what he was reading.

The sound of a keycard scraping against the lock and the doorknob turning distracted him, and he smiled as he listened to the ritual thumps and bumps that told him it was Malfoy entering their room and not someone else come to visit. He closed his eyes, picturing it as he listened. Jacket on the hook (thump). Room key and contents of pockets in the dish (assorted clatters). Shoes off (grunt) and tossed by the door (thump-thump). And 3, 2, 1…

“Potter.”

Harry grinned. “Yes?” He didn’t bother to open his eyes.

There was silence for a beat. Harry tried not to smile.

“Potter. What are you doing?”

“Reading.” He bit his lip. Baiting Malfoy was his new favorite pastime. Not that it hadn’t been his _old_ favorite pastime.

“Is this how you normally read? Potter, you’re upside-down!”

“So it would seem.”

“Do all Gryffindors pretend to be bats whilst reading, or just you? And how did I not know about this? You’d think _someone_ would have mentioned it. Merlin knows they talked about every other bizarre habit of yours.”

Harry listened to Malfoy ranting as he began to pace. He held his breath to keep from laughing.

“How do you even _do_ that? It’s giving me a headache just to look at you.”

There was a pause.

“Are your eyes closed? Potter!”

Harry gasped in a breath and then dissolved into laughter as Malfoy reached out and poked him in the stomach. This, of course, made him lose his balance and he slithered to the floor and collapsed in a heap.

Malfoy sniffed and stepped over him as he walked to his desk. "I’m going to read like a _normal person_ now. Let me know when you’re ready to join me."

* * *

Malfoy groaned and shut his textbook with a thump. “That’s it,” he said. “I cannot study one more minute. Are you _still_ working on that history essay?”

Harry snorted and opened his eyes. “No. I was replaying the last Cannons game Ron took me to. What’s up?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “The _Cannons_ , Potter? Honestly.” He frowned. “Are you going to play sports here?”

Harry looked up at him, surprised. “No, I don’t think so,” he said after a minute of pondering. “None of them really appeal. If I’m not on a broom chasing the snitch, then what even is the point?” He studied Malfoy, frowning. “Are you going to play?”

“What, me? Play one of those ghastly muggle sports? Hardly. I don’t fancy running about and getting muddy.”

Harry hid a grin. “Aw, come on, Malfoy. I bet you’d _love_ rolling about in the mud.”

“Mph.” Malfoy turned away. Harry suspected he was having trouble hiding his own smile.

After a few moments sent pointedly staring at the opposite wall, Malfoy turned back to him.

“Potter?”

“Hmm?” Harry asked, not abothering to hide his amusement.

“Oh, shut up,” Malfoy said.

“You’re the one talking, Malfoy.” Harry was chuckling now, homework and quidditch forgotten.

“Why was I saddled with you, of all people?” Malfoy asked the ceiling.

“Malfoy. Just spit it out. What were you going to ask me?”

“Ugh, fine. I was just going to ask — How in Merlin’s everlastingly barmy name did you end up here, Potter? Surely you can’t believe we ended up roommates, halfway around the world in a _muggle_ university purely by _chance_? I assure you that fate could not possibly have it in for me that badly.”

“Uh,” Harry said, idly scratching his eyebrow, “I dunno, Malfoy. I didn’t pick this place.”

Malfoy sat up straighter in his transfigured office chair, abandoning his idle spinning. “Oh? Who did, then?”

Harry shrugged. “Hermione. Who did you think? She set it all up. Pulled quite a few strings. Wouldn’t even tell me half of it - said the fewer who knew, the better. I don’t know that it was all entirely legal, to tell the truth.”

Malfoy stared at him.

“That meddling harpy!” he exclaimed, throwing his head back dramatically. “I will kill her.”

“Hermione?” Harry asked, half-offended.

“No, idiot. Pansy, that devil-woman who used to pretend to be my girlfriend. Probably thought she was doing me a favor.” He abandoned the office chair, flopping back onto his bed and sprawling spread-eagle on the coverlet.

Harry noticed the tip of a sock poking out from under the sloppily-made bed and grinned to himself. Without house-elves, Malfoy had turned out to be incredibly messy. It made Harry feel better about his own less-than-neat tendencies.

After a moment, Malfoy said softly, “Sorry you ended up stuck with me.”

Harry put down his book, which he had picked up in hopes of finding the motivation to keep working on his essay. “Do I look like I mind?” he asked.

Malfoy shrugged a little, looking small and uncomfortable. His blonde hair fanned out over the dark green coverlet — Slytherin green, Harry noted, with delight — and his pale cheeks were tinged pink. “Don’t you?” He bit his lip and looked anywhere but at Harry.

Harry shrugged, even though Malfoy couldn’t see him. “Dunno. Not really. Merlin knows I’ve spent enough time obsessing over you. Probably good to get a chance to know you better.”

Malfoy propped himself up on his elbows. “Are you serious?”

“Yes?” Harry cocked his head and eyed Malfoy quizzically. “Does that really surprise you?”

Malfoy didn’t answer, just flopped back down on his bed. “Merlin,” he whispered, almost to himself, “I’ll have to send her chocolate. She’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

Harry had no idea what he was talking about and decided the easiest course of action would be to just pretend he hadn’t heard.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry lay back on his bed, head pillowed comfortably on his crossed arms. He was supposed to be studying for midterms, but he couldn’t seem to focus. Instead, he found himself idly watching the Quidditch players on his Cannons poster as they zoomed around and preened at his attention.

Malfoy had returned early from his evening class one day to discover Harry with his head in his suitcase. He’d collapsed in a fit of laughter and taken the piss out of Harry with his habitual sneer firmly in place; he’d eventually relented and taught him the charms to disguise it as an innocuous muggle sports poster to any muggles that might visit.

Then Draco had pulled out a Falcons poster of his own and stuck it pointedly on the opposite wall. Now the teams constantly postured and sneered at one another, and Harry was nearly certain that both teams were suddenly much more competitive and vicious. He supposed he should be upset about Malfoy messing about with his poster (if he actually had; Harry wasn’t entirely sure), but he couldn’t bring himself to be anything but fondly amused.

The Cannons seeker caught the snitch and held it up proudly; Harry grinned, remembering the last game Ron had taken him to. The Cannons had been in rare form; he and Ron had yelled themselves hoarse. He’d been warmed for days by the glow of affection and cheer that day had left him. Ron had surprised him with the poster commemorating the game right before he’d left for university, declaring that he ought to have something to remind him of the best parts of the wizarding world he was leaving behind. Temporarily leaving, Harry corrected himself, with another glance at the poster.

He heard the familiar clatter that meant Malfoy had returned from class. He smiled. Something about the ritual sounds comforted him and made him feel at home, though he didn’t want to examine that too closely.

“How was your exam?” he asked.

“Fine,” Malfoy said, and Harry looked up to see him stripping his gloves off and unwinding his scarf, cheeks and nose pink and hair decidedly windswept. He also looked unaccountably pleased, which Harry took to mean that the exam had gone well, indeed.

“What class is it that you run off to so late at night anyway?” Harry asked, glad that he wasn’t taking it.  They’d been told the weather was unseasonably cold and Harry believed it; trudging about campus in the dark sounded decidedly unappealing.

Malfoy looked up; a puzzled crease forming between his eyebrows. “Ceramics. I rather thought you knew that. How long have we been roommates?”

Harry ignored the jibe. “Really? Ceramics? I didn’t know they let beginners in that class.”

“They don’t,” Malfoy said smugly, “but I took several art classes at Hogwarts. Ceramics isn’t much different in the muggle world.”

“You what?” Harry asked, dumbfounded. “They had art classes?” He couldn’t believe he’d missed that, Especially with how closely he’d paid attention to Malfoy’s movements. Of course… “You’re joking.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Just because you didn’t see me take them while you stalked me under that invisibility cloak doesn’t mean I didn’t take them, you know.”

Harry felt his cheeks flush; when he tried to speak he found that his mouth was dry and he couldn’t come up with a single word in reply. He turned back to the poster, trying to hide his blush. He wasn’t ashamed of stalking Malfoy, exactly, but… There was something there. Some feeling that he really didn’t want to examine.

“So, chemistry tonight?” Harry asked, still staring at the poster. The Cannons’ seeker smirked at him, and he felt the flush on his cheeks deepen.

“Yeah,” Malfoy said, throwing himself onto his bed. “Give me a minute, though. I did just get out of an exam, after all.”

* * *

Harry tossed his history book onto his bed, rubbing his eyes. “I can’t believe it’s almost midterms. How are we supposed to remember all this?”

Malfoy looked up from color-coding his notes, an action that reminded Harry uncomfortably of Hermione, then wandered over to peer at the stack of papers scattered across Harry’s bed. “That’s your idea of studying? No wonder you always needed Granger’s help to pass anything. Budge up.”

Harry looked up, surprised, but scooted over on his bed obligingly, shoving the piles of paper so Malfoy could perch cross-legged next to him.

“What are these?” Malfoy asked, holding a stack of papers carefully by the corner with the tips of his fingers.

Harry raised an eyebrow in a silent echo of Malfoy’s expression. “My notes?”

“Really.” Malfoy eyed them dubiously. “What’s this on them?”

“Um. Coffee? Possibly ketchup.”

Malfoy groaned. “You’re hopeless, Potter. Luckily, we’re in most of the same classes. Though you’re on your own in gender studies, I’m afraid.”

“That’s okay,” Harry said, grinning. “I’m actually halfway decent at that one, funny enough.”

He didn’t know why that surprised him, really. It wasn’t like anything he’d taken at Hogwarts, so he didn’t have uncomfortable associations with it, like he did with history and chemistry.

He gave a little shudder; chemistry didn’t come any easier to him than Potions had, even without Snape there to torment him. Luckily, Malfoy had taken to it like he always had to Potions, so Harry had decent notes to study. And a decent study partner, he thought, smiling involuntarily. He glanced over at Malfoy to find him flipping through Harry’s notes, occasionally turning them around and peering at them, a crease between his eyebrows.

“Potter,” he finally huffed. “Your penmanship is absolutely abysmal. There’s nothing for it. We’ll have to burn these notes and just use mine.”

“Hey,” Harry said, swiping half-heartedly at his notes. Truthfully, he agreed with Malfoy. He wasn’t going to learn anything from his sad attempt at notes. He eyed the color-coded papers currently laid out on Malfoy’s desk.

“How do you do it, anyway?” Harry asked, turning back to Malfoy. “I can hardly stay awake through class half the time. How do you manage to write it all down — and so neatly?”

“That, Potter,” Malfoy said smugly, “is one of the many ways that we both know that I am _far_ superior to you.”

Harry snorted. “Sure, Malfoy. Now stop gloating and grab those notes. I do want to sleep tonight, you know.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Harry absentmindedly shouldered past the crowds of students in the cafeteria, aiming for their favorite lunch station. Malfoy fell automatically in step beside him, parting the crowd as if by magic. Harry had no idea how the prat managed it — he didn’t think it was _really_ magic, or they’d surely have had a visit from MACUSA by now — but still. Something in the way he carried himself, Harry supposed, studying Malfoy’s graceful body.

“Potter!” Malfoy said, half-laughing. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Er,” Harry said, suddenly realizing that he, in fact, was not. He felt his cheeks heating.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Never mind. It’s best not to discuss classes during meals anyway — ruins the digestion.”

Harry snorted. “Where did you hear that?”

“Pansy,” Draco said, nose in the air. “Or possibly Blaise. Either way, I’ve never discussed classes during meals and I refuse to start now. Have you decided what you’re having?”

Harry turned toward the counter, studying his options. Pizza sounded good, he thought, as the student preparing them pulled one out of the brick oven. The crust was blackened around the edges, just as he liked it, and the cheese oozed appealingly, but it had mushrooms.

He wrinkled his nose and turned to order one without mushrooms, only to find the pretty brunette at the counter blushing and giggling at Malfoy while completely ignoring everyone else.

Harry sighed. This was becoming an annoying pattern.

“Excuse me,” he said, trying to catch her attention. She kept talking to Malfoy, twirling a strand of hair around her finger and biting her lip, and didn’t once look in Harry’s direction.

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Excuse me,” he said again, shouldering Malfoy aside so he was in the girl’s line of sight. “I’d like a pizza, please.”

She glowered at him and took his order curtly, turning immediately back to Malfoy, who was still perusing the soup menu.

Harry resigned himself to waiting awkwardly beside Malfoy, ignoring the way the cashier kept shooting looks at him.

“She was hitting on you,” he said, as they carried their food to their favorite table in the corner.

“Merlin,” Malfoy said, “she was not.” He jostled Harry with his shoulder, tray tipping precariously. His soup sloshed perilously close to the lip of his bowl, and Harry was glad he’d opted for pizza.

“She was, too!” Harry said, laughing and dodging away from him. “Just like that guy in chem lab last week. Hang on! I think you need to hear Hermione’s lecture.”

“Which one?” Malfoy asked warily. Harry thought he was probably right to be wary, though he would never tell him so.

“ _Bisexuality Is A Thing, Harry_. It was quite informative.”

Malfoy snorted. “I’m sure it was.”

“I’m serious, though. That girl—“

“I know it’s a thing, you berk,” he said, rolling his eyes. “It’s just not _my_ thing.”

“No?” Harry asked, unconvinced. “I could have sworn you were checking out that cute bartender last night.”

“Merlin, Potter,” Malfoy said, setting his tray down with such force that soup slopped over the edge of his bowl.

Malfoy glanced around and then vanished the spill, poking just the tip of his wand out of his sleeve. Harry stepped between him and the rest of the cafeteria as he did so, hoping to minimizing the chance of anyone seeing it.

“You could have just used a napkin, you know,” he said, exasperated.

“I have magic,” Malfoy countered, “I may as well use it. No one noticed, Potter, stop worrying. And as to the flirting, must I spell it out for you? You stalked me for a year and still don’t know this?” He sighed, shaking his head as if Harry were a hopeless case.

“I am _gay._ I like men, Potter. _Only_ men.”

Harry stared at him. “Oh,” he said quietly, wide-eyed. For some reason, he’d not quite believed it. He wasn’t sure why the confirmation left him feeling wrong-footed, but he felt as if any step might send him over the edge of a cliff. He had no idea what to do with the information he’d just been handed.

“Yes, _oh_.” Malfoy sighed. “Now eat your pizza before it gets cold.”

Harry thought Malfoy was eyeing him oddly as he ate, but Harry felt rather like he could never trust his observations again.

* * *

Harry lay in bed a few nights later, staring at the fairy lights twinkling gently on their ceiling and listening to Malfoy’s even breathing across the room.

Malfoy’s exasperated offhand comment had shaken Harry to his core. He realized this as he felt their comfortable routines shifting around him until he wasn’t sure where he stood anymore, only that his obsession with Malfoy was coming back in a way uncomfortably like sixth-year. But instead of trying to figure out what Malfoy was doing, now he was just trying to figure out who Malfoy was. He was starting to edge closer to a realization that he tried desperately to shy away from. A realization that he was quite possibly falling for Malfoy. That he had maybe even fallen for Malfoy long ago, and had just never allowed himself to see it.

But now.

Now he scrutinized and over-analyzed their every conversation, Malfoy’s every movement. The way he wrapped and unwrapped his scarf, the way he tipped his chair back on two legs and chewed on his pen when he was thinking. The way he lived his life by a series of inexplicable and endearing routines that he hardly ever wavered from. The way his every glance now sent shivers racing down Harry’s spine, and his questions reduced him to a stammering, blushing mess.

He was doomed.

* * *

Malfoy, sensing Harry’s weakness as quickly as he ever had, tormented him relentlessly.

“Potter,” he said, as they pored over his chemistry notes one evening, “fetch me the highlighters, would you?”

Harry, who was comfortable, thank you very much, grabbed a wand and summoned them.

Only, he didn’t pay attention to whose wand he grabbed, and didn’t realize until too late that he’d grabbed Malfoy’s. He wasn’t even sure how Malfoy’s wand had ended up so close to him.

He looked up to ask him, apologize, something, but was stopped by the strange light in Malfoy’s eyes.

“It’s very rude to touch another’s wand, Potter. It’s far too _personal_.” His voice dropped on the last word, and Harry felt the hair on his arms stand on end. He muttered “Bathroom,” and escaped.

He was beginning to suspect that Malfoy was engineering the charged moments just to fuck with him. He tried not to, because suspecting Malfoy of things was a habit he was trying very hard to break, but, still. It was suspicious.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Malfoy breezed into their room, pink-cheeked and glowing. Harry tried not to stare, groaning internally. He would have to say something. He couldn’t go on like this.

Harry cleared his throat a few times, trying to force the words out. “Hey, Malfoy—“

But then Malfoy looked at him from where he’d collapsed onto his bed, scarf still wound partway around his neck, and the corner of his mouth lifted up into something between a smile and a smirk, and everything Harry had been about to say fled from his brain, leaving him grasping desperately for something — anything — to say.

“Er,” he said, which wasn’t what he’d meant to say, and then, “um,” which wasn’t right either.

Malfoy’s smile widened and Harry gave up, shaking his head helplessly.

“Come with me, Potter,” Malfoy said, unfolding his lanky body with startling grace as he rose from the bed.

“Er. Where?” Harry asked, only half-listening.

“The ceramics lab,” Malfoy said. “I need to work on this project.”

“Didn’t you just come from there?” Harry frowned. Malfoy never went back to the lab after class. This was a major break in routine.

Malfoy smiled innocently at him. “I forgot something. Come on; I know you’re dying to see it.”

“Um. All right.” Harry had to admit he _was_ curious about what drew Malfoy to the ceramics lab most nights; what left him smiling and self-satisfied. But he’d never asked to accompany him, and Malfoy had never offered. It was something that belonged to Malfoy, and Harry hadn’t wanted to cross that line. But he certainly wasn’t going to turn it down. Especially not if satisfying his curiosity would keep that smile on Malfoy’s face.

He trailed after Malfoy as they crossed the darkened campus, wishing for the anonymity of his invisibility cloak.

“Here we are,” Malfoy said, ducking into an unassuming building at the edge of campus.

It wasn’t what he was expecting, exactly. He stopped in the doorway to stare around the large, open space, scattered with tables and pottery wheels. Against its walls were open shelves holding projects in all stages of completion. The bare concrete floor was speckled with spatters of dried clay and spots of colored glazes.

He would never have pictured Malfoy in a space like this, but he fit into it like he did nowhere else. Malfoy _belonged_ there, Harry thought, as he watched him move purposefully about, gathering supplies and getting settled at a wheel in the corner.

He followed when Malfoy beckoned, perching awkwardly on a stool next to Malfoy’s wheel. He quickly became mesmerized by the sight of Malfoy’s long, pale fingers kneading the clay.

Then he set the wheel to spinning and Harry became entranced as he watched a graceful bowl seem to spring into existence like magic beneath Malfoy’s hands.

Malfoy stopped the wheel and nodded, inspecting the bowl. Then he set it aside and turned to Harry, the light in his eyes making him look years younger.

“Now, you try.”

“What?” Harry asked, startled.

“Go on; you heard me.” He slapped a blob of clay onto the wheel in front of Harry.

“I can’t. I don’t even know where to begin,” Harry said, staring helplessly at the blob. He wouldn’t even know how to use magic to transform it.

“I’ll show you.”

Harry shivered as Malfoy moved behind him, spinning him around to face the wheel properly. He placed his hands over Harry’s, and Harry was struck by the contrast of their skin.

“That’s it,” Malfoy whispered, breath stirring the hairs at the back of his neck and body pressed against his back. “Now.”

He set the wheel to spinning, guiding Harry’s hands over the clay. For an instant it seemed to be working, and then the clay wrenched out of his hands and spun crazily around, off-center.

Harry stared. “Argh. What did I do?”

Malfoy snickered, breath hot against his neck. “You need to center it first.”

“How the hell do I do that?” Harry croaked, body aflame with sensation.

Malfoy replaced the clay, laid his hands over Harry’s again, and propped his chin on his shoulder.

“Here. I’ll help you.”

This time, Malfoy applied more pressure, enough that Harry expected the clay to go flying across the room, but instead it wobbled a bit and then suddenly centered. The impossible _rightness_ of it sang through Harry’s blood, magnified by the heightened sensitivity of his skin.

“Malfoy—” he whispered.

“Shhh,” Malfoy breathed against his skin. “Just watch.”

The bowl grew slowly, inch by tantalizing inch, and then suddenly it formed, magical and inevitable.

Malfoy slowly pulled Harry’s hands away and stopped the wheel. They both watched as the bowl spun before them, slowing to a halt. Malfoy leaned infinitesimally closer.

“There,” he said, satisfied, and Harry turned, heedless of the bowl, and caught his lips in a scorching kiss.

“Malfoy,” he breathed, pulling away slowly, hands untangling from his hair. Malfoy had streaks of clay across his cheeks, and…

“I got clay in your hair,” Harry whispered, horrified. “I’ll—“

Malfoy stopped him. “Leave it,” he said, pulling Harry back toward him. “I don’t care.”

Harry thought fuzzily that that was very suspicious, as Malfoy was very vain about his hair — and then when he could think again, he thought that maybe it wasn’t all that suspicious after all.

“Screw chocolates,” Malfoy mumbled, when they finally parted for air. “I’ll have to buy her diamonds.”

Harry just nodded, hoping that this would result in more kissing.

He wasn’t disappointed.

 


	7. Epilogue

**~Epilogue~**

Harry smiled as he tossed his keys into the slightly lumpy bowl that sat in their entryway. Draco had finished it in secret and gifted it to him their first Valentine’s Day, proving himself to be a sentimental sap. It had quickly found a permanent place in the entry to their dorm room, as it was the perfect size to hold the random detritus from their pockets.

It had been the first thing they unpacked when they’d bought a house in a muggle neighborhood near -- but not _too_ near -- the wizarding neighborhood where their friends had settled. Now, five years later, it still brought a smile to his face every time he came home.

“Draco!” he called as he toed off his shoes and unwound his scarf. “I’m home.”

Draco appeared in the doorway, lounging against the frame. “Did you expect me to bring you a drink like some 1960s housewife, Potter?” he asked, eyes twinkling with merriment.

Harry laughed. “No, _Malfoy_. I was going to say I brought takeaway. Think you could take some of this off my hands?”

Malfoy straightened up. “Ooh. Did you get Chinese?”

Harry held up the bags, wiggling them slightly. “All your favorites. Come on and help me get them to the kitchen.”

Draco swooped in to plant a kiss on his cheek as he grabbed one of the bags, and Harry’s smile widened.

“Hermione called. She said she and Ron would be by with the kids shortly. I hope you brought enough.”

Harry nodded, looking around his cozy home with a smile. It was everything he’d ever wanted; sometimes he could hardly believe he’d actually gotten it. All of it, even the things he’d never admitted to himself that he wanted, back when he’d wanted it all so badly. He looked over at Draco, setting the table and humming to himself, and smiled.

A life. A partner. A home.

And friends, he added mentally, as his godchildren Rose and Hugo Granger-Weasley tumbled in through the front door in a rush of cold air, their parents following more sedately behind them. Harry smiled widely at Ron and Hermione as he tossed Hugo into the air, ruffled Rose’s hair, and led them all into the kitchen, where Draco waited with dinner.

He wished he could send a message to the lonely boy staring into the Mirror of Erised and tell him that it would be all right in the end; that one day, he’d have all of the love and affection he’d always craved. That he’d have a home beyond Hogwarts -- _better_ than Hogwarts, he thought fondly, as Draco turned and smiled at him, inclining his head toward the table.

Harry nodded and sat, basking in the glow brought on by a night at home with his family.

~end~


End file.
